Figment: Online Story Series
by Brian Koby
Summary: Young Jonathan's life is quickly spiraling out of his control when a killer appears on his college campus and mysteriously knows everything about him. More mysterious is the figure helping Jonathan become who he's supposed to be.
1. Episode 1

Figment

Episode 1

A man in a white lab coat calmly walked down the glistening white and gray hallway of the Northeastern Medical Institution. In his right hand was a syringe, half-full of a light blue liquid. In his left was a small stick no more than twelve inches long. It was smooth and the gloss black finish gleamed with every passing pair of florescent lights.

The hallway was not very wide, only eight laminate tiles wide. Actually it was eight and a half, but the last half was split into quarter strips and placed at both side of the door-lined walls so everything was centered. The whole idea was to bring a common "center" to these people's living. Frankly, Dr. Robert Sheipe was annoyed that they could not make the halls six inches wider so they would not have to cut any tiles into quarter strips. But Sheipe was a psychiatric specialist, not an architectural engineer.

This was Sheipe's third trip to this room just this week. The poor bastard that resided in room 302 had some serious issues; a convicted killer who did not remember doing any of it. He kept screaming all day and night that he was innocent and he was the only one who knew the real killer. He even tried to bargain with the judge during his hearing to let him go so he could find this "other killer" and clear his name. He kept ranting on and on about how he was the only one able to locate the real killer.

Sheipe knocked on the steel door, just below the three inch tall gap that served as a window. "Yo, Jonny boy!" he called though the gap, "you still alive in there?"

From behind the door came muffled screams and the banging one could easily associate with having their hands tied to the bed posts. That is, if one had the experience. Sheipe had never had this experience. His sex life was more fantasized than realized. For him, a certain redhead from the female ward held his most recent dreams ever since two weeks ago she was found streaking in the courtyard and it was Sheipe who got to her first. After pulling her down to the ground she ground her hips into his and gave him a taunting laugh. Sheipe did not understand why women did not like him. He thought he was an attractive man and he knew that he had a great sense of humor. Thus far, his dates have been fewer and fewer, but as long as the redhead in room 174 resided in this institution he had his dreams.

As soon as the thrashing stopped and all that could be heard was the raspy, gagged breathing of the patient, Dr. Sheipe unlocked the door and stepped into the small room. It only had one window, placed ten feet from the floor and was only eight inches tall by fourteen inches wide. It let a single column of yellow sunlight into the center of the bland, tranquil room.

There was only one piece of furniture, a bland white bed that resembled an ordinary twin-sized shape. Around the posts at both the head and foot of the bed were tan leather straps, each one with a silver buckle and notched holes. To Sheipe the corner posts of the bed looked metal, but he knew they were something else. The patient would be able to bend and break it too easily then use it as a weapon. They had a similar

problem with the institution was first founded. The wooden beds broke very easily. The beds of today were new technology. It was some sort of polycarbonate plastic that was so strong it would take a focused laser to cut. Sheipe always laughed a little to himself when he heard or thought about it. To him it sounded too far-fetched to be real. It was like something out of a science-fiction comic book, but Sheipe would remember back to his basic chemistry classes. Carbon pairs were the easiest to make and some of the strongest element chains on Earth. Enough carbon chains pressed together with enough heat would produce a hard plastic that would seem virtually indestructible to anyone trying to cut or break it using conventional methods.

On this particular bed was a young man, barely beginning his twenties. One could tell that he had been here a while. His hair, usually kept clean-cut and gelled into place, laid ragged and grown abroad his white pillow. A dark beard had grown on the once baby-soft chin and cheeks. His eyes, as brown and dark as his hair, were worn; as if they had seen conflict and war, death and murder. They had, once, but not by the owner's hands. Inside his eyes was also a faint familiar glow, the glow that you see in the eyes of a hero. The glow, faded by drugs and anger, was evidence that the hero inside Jonathan Geise was dormant.

Sheipe stepped forward slowly, making sure that Jonathan clearly saw the needle. All that Sheipe was able to hear was the raspy breathing of Jonathan and the soft steps of white sneakers. He raised the needle close to his face and gently pressed the air out of the cylinder. Jonathan rolled slightly to his right, the straps holding his arms and legs giving just enough to expose his back side. The medical garment fell open exposing the white skin of Jonathan's right buttocks. Sheipe lifted the other side of the garment. Small red dots encompassed by yellowing bruises indicated several pin-sized pricks, all of them from a similar needle as that in Sheipe's hand. It was known that a patient's ass was the best spot to transmit the sedatives; the blood flowed more freely, distributing the fluid through the body faster.

Sheipe placed his black baton against the back of Jonathan's neck, pressing lightly to let Jonathan know not to move. There was only a pillow-muffled cry as Sheipe stuck the needle into the pale skin. The blue liquid slowly drained into Jonathan's blood stream. Once all the sedative was emptied, Sheipe threw the syringe behind him. This was a method he developed himself a year ago after an inmate had freed himself from the bonds and used the needle to threaten Sheipe's life. It was much safer to have it on the far side of the room. By the time somebody could get to the syringe and back to Sheipe the guards outside would already be in the room. However, this time there was no metallic clink against the hard floor, only a dull thud sound. Sheipe released his grip on Jonathan and turned around to see where the needle had landed. He walked across the room and bent over to look at the needle, stuck in the padding of the wall.

"Cool," Sheipe exclaimed softly to himself as he stood back up, turning around to face Jonathan. Something made him stop dead in his tracks. It was those eyes. His eyes. Dark brown and haunting in their own fashion. Jonathan and rolled back onto his back side and turned his head to face see why Sheipe had walked away. Sheipe had never walked away before. Jonathan liked Sheipe more than the others that came to get him out of his cell. Sheipe was gentle and never mistreated him. The other doctors would take it upon themselves to punish Jonathan for the sins he did not commit. Sheipe was different. To Jonathan it felt like Sheipe almost believed Jonathan's story of a different killer, still

out on the loose and actually felt a little sorry for Jonathan's case. However, for that to be true it would mean that Sheipe would have to show compassion to Jonathan. To Sheipe that was what actually separates him from the rest of the killers, murderers, and just plain crazies that resides at Northeastern. He found it easier to just treat them like the animals they were. Jonathan was different though. He actually did feel some compassion for the poor soul.

Before he could realize it, Sheipe had walked all the way across the room, mesmerized by Jonathan's eyes. He was now standing next to the bed. Sheipe found it compelling and mysterious that Jonathan's eyes had enticed him almost to a hypnotic state. He wondered what other secrets were hidden deep inside those brown eyes. He slowly unbuckled each strap and tossed it aside, freeing Jonathan from his plastic pin. Small red lines traced along the pale skin of Jonathan's legs and arms where the straps had rested and pulled against him during his most recent thrashing. Sheipe pulled Jonathan's legs over the side of the bed and helped him stand up. Jonathan staggered a bit then steadied himself, taking brace on one of Sheipe's boney shoulders. Once Sheipe was convinced that Jonathan could walk, he slowly walked Jonathan toward the steel door with the small service window.

In the hall, Jonathan could tell that things were worse than he originally thought. He could hear the tortured screams of those living in the same wing. His room must have been sound proofed to keep anybody from hearing him scream about the killer on the loose. He stumbled slightly, Dr. Sheipe catching his arm to keep him from falling. The drugs were to keep him under control during the transport to Dr. Tompkins's office. He doubted that he really needed them any more. He knew the routine. However, they did seem to have a smaller reaction on him more recently. He first thought that he was building a slow immunity to their effectiveness but traded that idea for the simple one of lower dosages. At least this time he was able to keep coherent thoughts within his head. He could think, see, and feel clearly. It was only the function of his limbs that felt like a cloud inside his head. He knew he was walking, but he had no thoughts of moving his legs, and when he would think of stopping or even raising his hand so it wouldn't continuously bump into his leg, nothing would happen. He was transfixed on the thought of Dr. Sheipe earlier. The look on his face, the way he was walking towards Jonathan after looking at the needle he had stuck in the wall, the way he had just stood for a minute, starring into Jonathan's eyes before removing the straps all seems odd to Jonathan. Then there was the thought of the needle. Jonathan knew he couldn't have seen it, even without the drugs. How did he know that it had become stuck in the wall, needle point first?

Dr. Sheipe took a hold of Jonathan's arm and pulled him to the left. It seemed that although Jonathan knew the way to Tompkins's office by heart, the thoughts of what transpired in the cell just moments earlier distracted him from where he was going.

A large wooden door, covered with decorative work of vines and naked imps dancing through fig leaves, marked the entrance to Tompkins's office. A brass plaque was hung slightly off-center at eye level on the door.

Dr. D. Tompkins, Ph.D.

stamped the face of the plate. A brass knob jutted out from the door. Dr. Sheipe reached in front of Jonathan and turned it, pushing open the door as he did. Jonathan made his own way into the office. He had regained a little control of his own legs, but his arms

still felt like jell-o. Dr. Sheipe helped him to a chair in front of a large redwood desk. Behind the desk sat a man, average height with blonde hair, combed back to hide the receding hairline. Jonathan always thought it pronounced it more, but never mentioned this to Dr. Tompkins. The last thing he wanted was to insult the single man who held his future in their hands.

Dr. Sheipe nodded towards Tompkins and left the room, closing the large door behind him with a large dull thud. The sound reminded Jonathan that the door was solid oak. It would be hard to break down along, but if you had a group of men or a battering ram it wouldn't hold for long. Still, Tompkins was a fan of the great arts. His office walls were littered with certificates and diplomas among the large portraits of psychiatrists and famous paints from people with single names. Dr. Tompkins leaned forward and rested his hand on the desk in front of him. He spoke clearly and calmly.

"How are you feeling today Jonathan?" he asked. It was always the same question to start the conversation. It was never something like "What did you dream of last night?" or "Bang any good chicks over the weekend?" The latter of those two would have been a joke since Jonathan is not permitted to leave his room except for his visits to Dr. Tompkins, but it still would have been better than the same damn thing every time.

"G—good," Jonathan stuttered out, quickly finding that his speech was slightly more slurred this time around. He doesn't remember what he said last time he was in here, although it was only a few days ago, but apparently it wasn't anything nice. "When…when do I get to leave?"

"Oh Jonathan," Tompkins started, "We have this talk every time you are here. You're here for a long time."

"Why? I want to go. I want to go home."

"We can't let you go. You are a murder Jonathan."

"No," Jonathan said softly, then more abruptly. "NO!" He tried to throw his hand up in protest and give Tompkins the finger only to have it slide off the arm rest and onto his lap.

"You killed all those people Jonathan," Dr. Tompkins said solemnly. "Why did you do it? What made you do it?"

"I didn't do it."

"They had a witness Jonathan. If you would just tell me why you did it I can help you. I can fix you."

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Jonathan shouted, finding his voice finally and realizing that he could twitch his fingers.

Dr. Tompkins relaxed back in his chair, still staring at Jonathan in a miserable attempt to intimidate him. "Did you get a thrill from killing those people Jonathan?"

"I didn't kill them. It wasn't me." Jonathan knew where this was going. Dr. Tompkins was right. They had this fight every time he was in here. It was pointless. He let out a large sigh and slumped down in the chair. Dr. Tompkins once again rested against his elbows on his desk.

"Who was this other killer Jonathan?" Dr. Tompkins asked after almost a minute of looking Jonathan in the face. "Tell me what he was like if you were the only one who ever saw him."

Jonathan looked up from the floor at Dr. Tompkins. Was this correct? Was the famed doctor from Northeastern actually giving Jonathan a chance to explain himself?


	2. Episode 2

Figment

Episode 2

Jonathan Geise sat up in bed, awakened suddenly from a dream. There was movement below his college bed loft; the gentle click of a deadbolt and shuffle of feet in wet flip-flops. His roommate, Craig Harkins, tried to move silently through the room after coming back from the shower. He seemed not to notice that he had woke his roommate. There was something else moving, this time behind Jonathan. Warm skin brushed against his side. He turned around to see a girl lying in his bed with him. Her brunette hair curled around her cheek and across her bare shoulder. Jonathan lightly brushed it away to look at her face. She was young, most likely a freshman or possibly a young sophomore. Jonathan was contempt with his estimate to her level of college due to the fact that it was Tuesday and most of the local high school girls don't illegally join the fraternity parties until Friday and Saturday nights. Nonetheless, she was quite beautiful with her soft white skin and lush lips. He tried to think of how she had gotten into his bed since he was not really the party type of person. He mostly kept to himself unless he was with people he had known for a while, like his roommate Craig. Jonathan did not have a problem hanging out with Craig. Only once had there been a time that he resented bringing his eccentric friend along to the bar he loved to go to on Monday nights. It just so happened that night that while Jonathan tried to pick up a girl for the evening, Craig tried his own luck…with a guy.

Of course! The girl must have been at the bar last night since it was karaoke night and they weren't serving alcohol. The Locker Room held karaoke every other Monday night and limited the sale of alcohol so that underage students could partake in the fun of making a fool of themselves to other patrons while trying to belt out the wrong notes to music like "I Love Rock n' Roll" and "Baby Got Back". Jonathan went to these social gatherings with the intent of being amused and finding a new girl that he may share his bed with. He guessed that the previous night had been a success since the beautiful brunette was lying naked beside him.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly and when she saw him she smiled. Her eyes closed and she nestled her head back into the pillow. Jonathan rubbed his eyes and looked down at Craig, who was sitting at his computer desk already dressed. Craig knew that Jonathan did not get as much of a thrill out of seeing other guys naked as he did, so he took the liberty of showering and changing at the same time in the community bathroom. It was the least Craig could do in respect for Jonathan's last three years of living with him. Jonathan had several options of moving out and living with a heterosexual roommate rather than a homo, but their friendship was something else.

"With the way you two were going at it last night," Craig said softly in attempt to not disturb Jonathan's company, "I'm surprised the neighbors didn't complain."

Jonathan smiled and lied back down. The girl's arm draped over his chest and she lifted her head over his should and saw Craig sitting on the other side of the room. Her

blue eyes widened and she slumped behind Jonathan a little. Craig chuckled at the girl's reaction and waved it off with his left hand.

"Please hunny," he said with a slightly unnoticeable lisp, "don't worry about me seeing what you've got up there. I've got them too." Craig lifted up his shirt. His slightly pudgy body bulged near his hips then again around his chest, making a decent sized b-cup in man-boobs. "And the one thing I got that you haven't dear," he continued, "you seem to have found on my roommate last night." He winked at her.

The girl let out a small laugh and proceeded to get out of bed, still being careful that her body was covered with the sheet. While climbing down the steps on the short side of the loft, she had pulled the sheets off of Jonathan, exposing his body to everybody watching, which happened to be the freshman/sophomore and Craig, with the latter of the two making the first comment while the former bashfully looked away.

"Oh," Craig exclaimed. "I did not need to see that this early."

"What's that?" Jonathan asked pulling some extra covers around his waist. "I thought you were a bigger fan of breakfast sausage."

"No offense Jon," Craig explained, "but you are not my type."

"Right," Jonathan said. "Being straight and all is a small turn off to you."

Craig smiled and looked at the girl, who was in turn smiling also at the banter of friends, and made a gesture with his fingers that suggested a small size in reference to both a joke about Jonathan's comment as well as a joke about Jonathan's _comment_. The girl again giggled and shook her head and made the same gesture, only half an inch bigger. Craig burst out in laughter. Jonathan looked down from where he was to see what was so funny to catch the girl still making the gesture. He promptly threw a pillow at her then his spare at Craig.

After returning from his shower, Jonathan found that the girl was gone and Craig was still sitting at his computer desk, gently putting the day's books in a black backpack. He looked up as Jonathan walked into the room. Having been the butt of the morning's jokes, Jonathan took the liberty of dressing the bathroom to avoid any more comments toward his behalf.

"Christine wanted you to have this," Craig said handing Jonathan a small slip of paper, neatly folded in half. "And thank you for introducing us before rushing off to your cleansing."

"I don't remember that," Jonathan said taking the paper and unfolding it.

"That was sarcasm Jon," said Craig. "After three years you think you would pick up on my tone of voice."

"You would think after three years I would learn to stop living with a gay guy," Jonathan said reading the writing on the paper. "It's her phone number and room. I'll probably have to give her a call later today."

"She was a very nice girl Jon. Very pretty, and I don't usually say that about girls."

"She was beautiful," Jonathan said in an almost daydream fashion leaning up against the foot post for his loft. "And last night she did this thing with her tongue…" He stopped and looked at Craig, who had one eyebrow raised. "Never mind," Jonathan continued after a second, "nothing you would be interested in."


	3. Episode 3

Figment

Episode 3

It was almost 6:30 at night when Jonathan got out of his last class. Normally it was still bright outside but with the more days that passed into the fall months the quicker dark came to Jonathan's part of the world. There was still a slight sliver of orange and red on the low west horizon, remnants of a long, dry fall day. However, the darkening sky was just enough that the street lamps around the sidewalks were alit, casting shadows against the pavement below Jonathan's feet.

He walked slowly, taking his time. It wasn't very late in the day, but the dinner rush at the nearest dining hall would be packed with hungry students. Jonathan was not socially inept, but he was not a fan of large crowds in small areas. This actually made it a bit confusing to himself. He could not stand the crowds while waiting in line to get some dinner after class, but he did not mind a crowded bar with people signing out of tune and others screaming for an encore or the recent travesty to music to remove themselves from the stage. He adjusted his backpack, gripping it a little tighter as he noticed a character standing in the shadows ahead of him.

The campus on which Jonathan lived wasn't a large campus and did not have many problems with students getting mugged on the way to or from class or even just walking around the outskirts of campus grounds. This is not mean that there were the few occasions that it did happen, but it was more likely that some pretty girl walking home from parking her car or visiting some friends would get assaulted by a drunk or disturbed individual looking for a good romp in the bushes. Jonathan didn't have to worry about this cause since he didn't consider himself pretty, or a girl for that matter. But the news story that morning about the killer made him wary about his surroundings and seeing individuals dressed in black hanging out in the shadows cast by the lamps.

As he got closer, Jonathan was able to notice that the individual was wearing a black overcoat. It was not very warm out this evening, but it was in no way cold enough to require a coat. A brimmed black hat covered the person's face, but judging by what Jonathan could see the individual in question was male. There was slight stubble showing on the person's face, but it could have been the typical five o'clock shadow. As Jonathan began to pass the dark individual the shadow cast by the brim of the hat covered the majority of the man's face. The only feature that Jonathan could still see was the stubble-covered chin and lower cheek. The man never raised or turned his head as Jonathan walked past. He just kept staring at the ground, hands thrust deeply into the pockets of the overcoat.

"Nice night isn't it?" a voice asked from behind Jonathan. It could have only been assumed to belong to the darkly dressed man under the lamplight considering the fact that he was the only person behind Jonathan. Jonathan kept walking, not bothering to turn around to face the man. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to this person hiding in the shadows it was just that he didn't really want to be knifed in the gut for what little change he kept in his pockets and his student ID card. Heaven forbid he loses his ID

card. The thought of somebody else running around campus claiming to Jonathan Geise sounded ridiculous but it was something that was possible. Anything was possible these days.

"I said," the voice echoed again behind Jonathan, "Ain't it a nice night?" This time Jonathan stopped and turned around slowly to see who was talking to him. He expected to see the man standing close behind him. From the sound of his voice, the man almost seemed to be standing right behind Jonathan when he spoke, but in fact had not moved from his spot against the light post, hands still in his pockets.

"Look," Jonathan said holding up a hand in caution, "I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" the man asked with a slight laugh in his tone. There was a pause as the man thought, then he pushed himself away from the pole, making sure his head stayed down so the shadows continued to hide his face. He took a few steps forward but not approaching Jonathan. "I'm not going to be any trouble to you. No. In fact I'm here to help you."

"Help me how?" Jonathan asked taking a half step behind him.

"You shall see," said the dark figure turning away from Jonathan. "I'll show you in due time." As the man walked away from Jonathan, the last words sounded as if the man were once again behind him, but Jonathan could clearly see the man's back as he walked towards the bus stop.

Jonathan shuddered slightly as if touched by a burst of cold wind. He adjusted his backpack and turned back around and continued toward the dining hall in search for some dinner.

The door to room 302 was unlocked when Jonathan finally got back to his dorm room. He knew that Craig was home. He never forgot to lock the door. It was a practice he made sure he learned since his first day on campus and since then he has only forgotten once. Luckily for him another guy on the floor noticed the slightly opened door and promptly closed it and left a note for either Jonathan or Craig about the situation.

Jonathan liked living on the third floor of this particular building. Two wings of the building were sectioned off as being the drug-free dormitories. Student living here had to sign a contract in which they agreed to live in the dorms and not partake in the use of illegal drugs. Of course it was reasonable that the students who were of age could partake in the consumption of alcoholic beverages, just as long as they did not bring the drinks home with them and did not cause much ruckus as they arrived back home in the early hours of the morning. Along with living without the pressure of drugs, all the guys on the floor joined together as one community. They usually would go to either lunch or dinner together and would go as a large group to social events around campus.

Surely as he predicted upon opening the door Jonathan found Craig hunched over the wireless keyboard of his computer. Although the desk was clearly designed to be an ideal height to hold a computer keyboard, Craig still insisted on having his keyboard rest on a book on his knees. From time to time he would lean back in his chair and prop his feet up on the desk so his knees formed a vertical platform. From here he would use the table he and Jonathan made for this certain occasion. It would strap by Velcro around his legs and hold the keyboard at an ideal typing height for Craig as he leaned back in his chair. The only fall-back to this method was it wasn't quick to set up or tear down. It


	4. Episode 4

Figment

Episode 4

Darkness was all around Jonathan. Everywhere he turned he saw shades of black, gray, red and orange. He knew he had to be in a dream but he couldn't find the exit. A voice called out from the darkness. Jonathan recognized it as the voice of the man in the shadows. It called out Jonathan, mocking him, nagging him.

"You'll see," called the voice from all around Jonathan. "I'll show you." Every time the phrase was repeated it was followed by a laugh that sent chills down Jonathan's spine.

Although the voice called to him, beckoned him, ridiculed him, and berated him, it never called his name. Jonathan still ran; a flawed attempt in a dream such as this, but it was his only option. So he ran, dark one dark alley after another, the shadowed face spawning at the end of every intersection, laughing, and casting red hues along the walls around Jonathan. There was no escaping this dream. The dark figure, shadowed by his clothing and his choice of lighting, was everywhere, following Jonathan.

As he turned the next corner into another empty alley Jonathan stopped abruptly. At the end of the alley, cast against a red glow, was a shadow, cloaked in black, the flaps of a cape or long coat drifting gently in the wind. Jonathan could make out the brim of the black hat the man wore. It was hard for Jonathan to see the man's face before, but with the shadows of darkness around him it was all but impossible to make any features or even the slightest hue of pink flesh. There was a sound, metal scrapping metal, from behind Jonathan. He turned around to see nothing and turned back around to see the man in black almost on top of him, bringing an object, long and slender, down from over his head.

Jonathan screamed and sat up in his bed. Forgetting that the bed had been lofted almost six feet above the floor, Jonathan's head came in contact with the rough plaster ceiling of the college dorm room. He fell back down to the pillow of his bed, grabbing his forehead in pain.

"FUCK!" he yelled wincing in pain for the scratch left by the sharp points of the textured ceiling.

Craig was already awake, as usual, but had not gone for his morning shower yet. He quickly jumped up from his desk chair when he heard Jonathan scream from the obviously terrifying dream he had been having. Almost instantly Jonathan was back down on the bed rolling back and forth on his back, his left hand cupped against his forehead as curse words quickly emanated from his mouth.

"Shit man," Craig said with a slight chuckle, "that had to hurt."

"Oh, fuck!" Jonathan said again rolling over to look at Craig, "Damn right it did. Do you see any serious bleeding?" He rubbed his fingers against his head and looked at them to see if he needed to get a band-aide.

"No," Craig answered looking intently at the scar on Jonathan's brow. Jonathan rubbed his head again and began climbing down from the loft, being careful not to hit his head again. "Bad dream?" Craig asked turning back around and sitting back down in front of his computer.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Jonathan answered still rubbing his head, slowly making his way to his computer chair. He sat down and looked at the blinds that covered the window looking outside. An orange light was plastered against the cream colored fabric. It was oddly eerie to Jonathan. He stood up and pulled the drapes open. Red sunlight poured into the dormitory, casting orange and pink shadows along the walls.

"Red sky," Craig said looking outside while standing up again. "It was said amongst sailors that red skies were the sign of danger or peril at sea."

"But we aren't at sea," Jonathan felt like adding that point.

"No," continued Craig, "but it was also the belief of some cultures that a red sky meant victory at battle. The blood of the enemies soaked the ground and was taken away by the sun. Tolkien stated it best in his book _Two Towers_ as they tracked the Hobbits through Rohan, 'Red sky, blood has been spilled this past night'."

Jonathan flipped on his computer screen and sat back down. "Didn't they say something yesterday about storms later today?" he asked opening his Firefox web browser. It was defaulted to open the local news website. The first thing listed on the page was information about the previous night's murder.

The police still had not come up with a motive or had any leads on the murder. So far it had appeared to be a random "thrill-kill", as they were calling it. The weapon had first been claimed as a large knife, but since none had been taken from the kitchen rack or drawers, it was now believed that the murder carried the weapon with him to the murder and has possibly disposed of it in the local trash. A search of trash cans and dumpsters in the neighborhood had turned up nothing yet but the police and investigators were not going to give up easily on finding a weapon.

Jonathan sat back in his chair, looking at the computer monitor then back outside. He still had the feeling from the night before that everything was connected, but he still could not place it. He actually was unaware that Craig had been trying to get his attention for the past minute.

"Jonathan," Craig said, almost exasperated. Jonathan looked back to Craig from his glazed stare out the window. "Are you still going to the mall today?"

"Yeah," Jonathan said with a small nod.

"Good, I need you to get me a shirt I saw last week at Hot Topic." Craig tossed Jonathan a twenty. "I expect change back."

"Handler's fee, you know how it goes."

"I'm serious."

"Yes mom." Jonathan smiled and picked up his wallet that was sitting on the corner of his desk, stuffing the twenty inside with the few singles he had left from his last check.

Jonathan dug his keys out of his jeans pocket, picking the car key right away without even looking at the key ring. It was a force of habit by now. Ever since he was sixteen, Jonathan was driving. He made sure that with every girl he dated, or randomly


	5. Episode 5

Figment

Episode 5

After arriving back from his trip to the mall, Jonathan parked his car in the third slot in from the end of the lane. As he slid the faded-orange shifting square over the illuminated P on his dashboard, Jonathan noted that the tank of gas was indeed full. He just topped it off on his way back, just to be safe. He pulled a pen and pad of paper from the glove box and wrote down his mileage. The sudden drop in gas left Jonathan thinking that somebody might be driving his car. The only problem was that he and his parents were the only ones with keys and he doubted his parents would drive three hours just to take his car somewhere.

He got out of the car and locked the door before closing it, then walked around the entire car, making sure that all the doors were locked. He even tried pulling up on the trunk to be certain he had not bumped the release leaver next to his seat. Satisfied that there was no way anybody could get into his car without the key, a rock, or an elaborate car theft system, Jonathan began to walk back to his dorm. He stopped only after a few feet and picked up a small stone. Having grown up with a younger brother who was always messing with his stuff, Jonathan learned to set small, unnoticeable traps that would confirm his suspicions that his brother was going into his bedroom or using his computer. Jonathan placed the small stone under the backside of the passenger side tire. He figured that if someone where to be getting in on the driver side they would notice the stone and replace it after returning the car, and if placed behind the rear tire it could be seen while approaching the car. Now truly satisfied, Jonathan walked back to his dorm, arriving just in time to meet up with Craig for some lunch.

Craig was walking out of the dorm building just as Jonathan was coming in. The look on Craig's face told Jonathan instantly that he should hold the bag from Hot Topic in front of him, or least be pounced upon by a 200 pound gay man. Craig snatched the bag out of Jonathan's hands and thrust his hand inside with a gleeful giggle of joy. The undistinguishable black and gray tone of the shirt suggested that it came from the gothic and punk trend store, but as soon as Craig held it up against his chest, showing Jonathan the image of a small yellow hamster and the quotation suggesting that Craig had an army of such furry little creatures at his disposal that he would unleash significantly unto an unsuspecting village, thus rendering it's total and unneeded annihilation confirmed such conclusion.

"You really do like that shirt," Jonathan said taking the bag back from Craig and wadding it up into a small ball to be thrown away as they passed the trash can. Jonathan tossed the bag, but missed and bent down to pick it up. Meanwhile, Craig was slipping the shirt over his head and tugging it down over his red t-shirt that he had already been wearing.

"You have no idea." Craig said. "Hamsters of Doom are the coolest thing in the world." He snagged the bag out of Jonathan's hands again and shot it towards the trashcan like a basketball. It bounced off the rim and rolled into the basket.

"I thought you gay people were all fashion conscience." Jonathan pointed out as they began walking towards The Village. Since the campus was located in the center of a fairly large, but still relatively small city, a single street that ran through the middle of the campus was littered with stores, restaurants, and bars. The students referred to this gathering of markets as The Village. Not many of the current students knew why exactly, and neither did Craig or Jonathan, but they did enjoy eating the world famous Carter's Hot Dogs.

"Awesome shirts take precedence over fashion," Craig scolded in a joking matter. "Plus red really isn't my color and I haven't done laundry yet."

"You can wear the same shirt more than once without having to wash it." Jonathan stated matter-of-factly. "I've worn this pair of underwear three days straight."

"Eww, that's gross." Craig said sticking out his tongue. "Why would you do that?"

"They're comfortable. They don't ride up in the ass and don't bunch up my ball sack."

"God, do you think before you speak or do those words just sit on your tongue all day until you talk to me."

"Well, I can't say that stuff in front of girls."

The two laughed and stopped at the curb of the sidewalk, looking for traffic that might be traveling down the road they were just about to cross.

"There was another murder last night." Craig said as they started crossing the road. "They didn't find out about it until late this morning."

"Where was it?" Jonathan asked.

"West of here," Craig answered, "about half-way from here to the last murder. They said it was the same style of killing; large knife, but no evidence of one being taken or left behind."

"That's odd," Jonathan said stopping to think. "You didn't happen to drive my car anywhere, did you?"

"You've got to be joking, right?" Craig said with a slight laugh. "You wouldn't even let your own mother drive that car."

"I got in it this morning and half a tank of gas was just gone. Almost enough to drive 40 miles two ways." Jonathan said looking around.

"You think I took your car?" Craig asked.

"I think somebody took my car."

"What's wrong with you? You seem jumpy and paranoid about something."

Jonathan looked around again then leaned in close to Craig. "It's these murders and that…that freak in the black."

"Have you seen him again?"

"No, but I just can't shake the idea that all of it is connected somehow." Jonathan reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it slowly, revealing a drawing, sketched in pencil, of what looked like a Japanese katana. "I found this in one of my notebooks yesterday." He said showing it to Craig.

Craig took the paper and studied it. "Yeah," he said handing it back, "it's called a doodle. I do it all the time."

"This is different," Jonathan said, "I don't remember drawing it, but I remember a bunch of details."

"What more can there be than this?"

Jonathan folded the paper up and put it in his pocket and continued walking towards the Village.

"It's called the Shadow Blade," Jonathan said referring to the drawing.

"Sounds like something out of a sci-fi comic." Craig mumbled.

Jonathan ignored the comment and continued, "It's made of some type of new metal. I think the name was _Onyx Steel_ or something like that."

They turned the corner and stopped at the door outside of Carter's Hot Dogs. Jonathan reached out for the door handle, but Craig stopped him.

"Listen, Jonathan," he said softly, "it's just a doodle. There's nothing special about it. It doesn't mean anything. You probably drew it while half asleep in your calculus class, that's why you don't remember drawing it, but remember the facts."

Jonathan pulled the door open with an angered jerk. Craig backed away a little and gave a concerned look to Jonathan, whom did not seem to notice. After a second of waiting, Craig walked into the eatery and Jonathan followed, letting the door slowly close behind them.

Jonathan spent the rest of the afternoon in the dorm room on his computer. When he was not looking up information about the local murders he was sending instant messages to friends around the state. He asked them questions about what they had heard about the murders and if they were on the same campus if they had seen a man dressed in all black that stayed back in the shadows. Nobody had any more answers than he already had. Jonathan's search seemed to be frivolous.

It was close to eight o'clock when Craig got back from spending time with other friends. He walked in the room and set his bag down. Jonathan was leaning back in his computer chair, staring half-minded towards his computer monitor.

"Jesus," Craig said stepping around the couch in the middle of the room, "have you been there all afternoon?"

"Just about," Jonathan answered, "what time is it?"

"Just after eight. You need to go out and get some fresh air."

Jonathan stretched his arms over his head then rubbed his eyes. "That really doesn't sound like a bad idea."

Jonathan stood up and grabbed his coat from the closet. He began to walk out but remembered that he forgot his keys. Craig picked them up off the edge of the desk and tossed them to Jonathan.

"Don't wait up for me," Jonathan said jokingly.

"Don't bring home any strange girls," Craig said non-jokingly.

Jonathan walked slowly along the sidewalk, making sure to pass directly under the lamps casting purple-yellow glows along the cracked gray surface. So far he had not seen the man dressed in black, but he had only been out for less than twenty minutes. A cold chill ran down Jonathan's spine, making him shiver a bit. He looked behind him

again, expecting to see the man in black, leaning casually against the lamp post or a tree. He saw nothing. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the black leather coat he was wearing.

This night was slightly colder than the previous nights had been. A good sign that the fall months were moving in and winter was soon to follow. Jonathan had always liked the fall. It marked a time of change. The leaves on the trees began to die, and as they did, their colors changed, their exteriors wrinkled, they fell to the ground, giving in to the inevitable cycle that is begotten to them all from their very creation in the spring. Mostly, for Jonathan, it gave him a chance to find a cute girl and snuggle up with her out on the lawn and take in the beautiful array of oranges and yellows that befall the trees surrounding campus. After all, he was a guy.

Another chill crawled up Jonathan's spine. It hadn't even reached his neck before he heard a voice behind him. He turned around quickly, almost too quickly, slightly losing his balance. There was nobody there. A few hundred feet behind him was a couple walking hand-in-hand, laughing slightly to each other. Jonathan could hear their laughter and assumed that it was the boyfriend's voice he had heard behind him, making him wield around in anticipation of another encounter. He turned back around slowly only to see the man in black, a few yards ahead of him, leaning against a lamp post, same as he was the first time Jonathan had seen him.

Jonathan swore that man had not been there only second prior to him turning around. It was physically impossible for him to have run to such position and be there calmly in the short time span he had while Jonathan was turned around. He must have been in the shadows behind the light, waiting and watching for the right moment. But how did he know that the moment would be at this particular location, at this particular time? The man looked up from the ground, his brimmed hat still hiding his face in darkness. Jonathan had to hand it to this guy; he knew how to keep hidden.

Jonathan stopped and looked at the man, who had taken his cue that Jonathan was not going to walk any further, so had started walking in his direction. The black coat draped around his body billowed in the wind created by his movement. Jonathan could see that not only was the man wearing a black coat, but black pants, shirt and shoes. It was obvious now, since the man was not leaning against a post or standing on higher ground than Jonathan, that the two were identical in height, but it was still hard to tell with the brimmed hat over the dark figure's head. The man stopped only a few yards from Jonathan and stood in an open stance.

"You've seen it," the man said, "haven't you?"

"Seen what?" Jonathan asked, hands still in his pockets.

"How I'm going to help you," the dark figure retorted in an almost proud emphasis.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"I told you I would show you. I've showed you twice so far. Are you that blind?"

Jonathan looked around. Nobody else was in the same area. It was almost as if the entire campus deserted itself when this dark man appeared. "I don't understand." He said after a turning back to the man.


	6. Episode 6

Figment

Episode 6

Eugene Harris leaned against the wooden door frame outside the single-story white-trimmed house. It was a rural neighborhood. Most the houses on the street looked identical, evidence of urban planning; create similar housing units to develop friendly mannerisms amongst the tenets. This house was different from the rest though. The beige carpet inside the living room and the antique white walls were splattered sporadically with red. The ceiling even held a few dots and slashes or crimson. It appeared that someone had gone mad with a paint brush, exploding with rage towards the conformity of his or her surroundings. No. It was more than that. It was a murder, a double, to be matter-of-fact.

Eugene did not mind his job so much. He had it made compared to some of the other saps inside the house. His job was to make sure that only authorized personnel crossed through the yellow X that crossed through the doorway behind him. Most of the time he would not have to see the chaos that typically ensue a violent murder such as this. He had seen it tonight, however, and some fresh air was what he needed to get the site of the couple out of his head. He doubled over quickly, vomiting into one of the bushes. The thought of getting the thoughts out of his head made him sick, especially since the head of the husband was still yet to be found.

Two detectives, both rather young looking to be in the positions they currently hold, casually walked up to Eugene. The one on Eugene's left was looking around, judging the area. The one on the right didn't bother flashing his badge to the officer at the door. He was sure that Eugene knew who he was. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and lifted the yellow tape so his partner could cross under easily.

As they entered into the main room of the house, another police officer, dressed in the state trooper blue uniform, approached them, looking around waywardly. There was a flash of light to the right of the officer, who jerked suddenly in surprise. The high-pitched hum of a camera flash charging followed the silence in the room.

"Detective Krum," said the officer, "both victims were here in this room."

"Thank you Willard," Detective Dean Krum said looking around the room at the blood patterns on the wall, "now excuse me." He walked past Willard, carefully stepping over the evidence markers on the floor. He stepped around the couch and looked down at the bodies. The wife was on her stomach, a red circle on her back marked where she had been stabbed, just below the left shoulder and a little to the left of the sternum; not good enough to pierce the heart, but enough to fill the lungs with blood from the severed arteries, quickly suffocating the victim. The husband lay headless on his back just a few inches away. Vertical lines of red ran up his chest, his shirt torn open and darkened from blood. The positions of their bodies were different. Dean kneeled down next to the wife and looked at her arms and hands. He was facing the way she fell, first to her knees, then onto her face. The simple fact that her head was not turned to lessen the impact of the

floor to her nose suggested that she was dead before she hit the floor. Her hands were at her sides; no attempt to slow or catch her fall was present.

The husband, however, looked like his body was placed next to the wife's on purpose. It was not in the usual pile of limp muscles that was common to others who had their head cut off. Dean looked up at the ceiling and noticed no large splatters above the husband's body.

"Looks like the same guy," said Dean's partner. "But he never sawed off body parts before."

"He didn't saw it off," Dean said putting on a rubber glove. He reached out to the neck of the husband and ran his finger along the cut skin. "Sawing motions leave tears in the skin. This is smooth and clean. It was one solid motion; probably a machete or butcher cleaver."

He stood up and took the glove off and handed it to the nearest officer. He again looked up at the ceiling. He studied all of the splatter patterns for a moment until he found the one he was looking for: a small circular pattern a few feet away behind the body. He pointed up to the circle.

"His head was removed here," Dean said walking over until he was underneath the splatter. He looked down at the body and then positioned his arms and legs similar, still trying to stand. "He was running to her, but his body kept going from muscle spasms, then collapsed."

Willard came back into the main room, his face white like he had seen a ghost, or something similarly disturbing.

"Detective," he said, "you need to come see this."

Dean and his partner followed Willard out into the back yard. As they walked through the rest of the house, it seemed untouched. The murderer did not touch anything else in this house, just like the others. He was only after the thrill of killing, not money or drugs or electronics. Such killers were hard to track. Pawn shops and banks were easy to stake out, but when nothing was missing, it was hard to pin down a true motive behind their actions. The simple act of murder was not enough to most killers. They always craved something else. The sickest one Dean had ever encountered in his career had been the bastard who would murder little girls violently before having sex with their mutilated bodies. Eight girls in all had been lost to Greg Bornne, all between the ages of 6 and 12, before he was gunned down by police in a small town in Oklahoma. Dean had tracked the case for several months. Bornne had started his sexual appetite here in Indiana before getting the bright idea to move around between states. However, by the time he had figured out it would be smart to leave, Dean had already profiled him, and four girls were buried in their family's cemetery lots long before they were supposed to be. Dean helped track Bornne through six states before finding him at a motel, trying to choose another victim for his disgusting act. Bornne was immediately shot, but not before he used the little girl at his side as a human shield. It was the worst day in Dean's career. However, a new mass murder was on the loose in his home state and he was determined to catch the bastard.

They walked out the patio door onto the back porch. Resting casually on top of one of the tiki bug torches, used in the area to keep bugs away from cookouts, was the head of the husband, eyes still wide open with surprise.

"Why would he put the head out here?" asked Dean's partner.


	7. Episode 7

Figment

Episode 7

It was one word that sent Jonathan running in the other direction. One syllable, no inflection, no eye contact, no expression whatsoever.

"Go."

Metal slid effortlessly against metal. A slight resonating ring fed into the air surrounding the two black objects. There was the ripple of leather, the folding of fine woven cloth then another clang as steel collided with steel. The sounds began to blend as moves became faster. Three more clangs rang out into the night sky. Curiosity crept over Jonathan as he slowed his pace and turned around to watch the exchanges. The newcomer was dressed in similar fashion; all black with a very long leather overcoat and brimmed leather Aussie-style hat. Although the shadows held tightly to both figures as they exchanged parries and ripostes, Jonathan was able to tell a distinct difference in height. The new guy stood above six feet tall and had a better muscular tone.

The killer swung hard to the newcomer's left arm. CLANG! The block came almost as fast as the attack and was followed by another block to the other side. Both figures spun around in opposite directions and met with half blades, letting them slide to the tang as they both stepped into each other. Jonathan was surprised that at the amount of noise they were making in the dark night that nobody else had come to investigate. However, the campus was known for its various film students doing late night productions that included a few unorthodox items such as swords or guns so as to avoid being caught by campus police.

The killer rotated his blade downward, forcing his opponent's to the ground. He followed through with a turn of his waist and an elbow to the newcomer's temple. The opponent staggered away but brought up his blade to block a downward cut from the killer. The sword flew out of the newcomer's hands and clattered on the pavement. As the killer followed through the initial attack with another cut, the newcomer threw his arm in the way to deflect the blow. There was a cry of pain as the blade sliced through the thick leather and into flesh. Just as the killer brought his blade up again a bright light flashed across the yard, the wail of a police car. The killer turned to see what was going on, blocking his eyes and face from the light. The newcomer rolled out of the way and into the shadows. Jonathan moved behind a tree and saw the killer quickly hide the sword behind his back as the police car slowly passed by, keeping the spot light on. Jonathan could hear a conversation going on between the officers in the car and the killer but was not able to make out any what they were saying. The light went out and the car passed. The killer looked around and sheathed his sword and started to walk in the opposite direction of Jonathan.

Jonathan let out a sigh of relief and turned back around to go back to his dorm. He was startled by a dark figure standing a few yards away from him, leaning on a short wall, a sword hanging from his other hand. The figure tried to step forward but slumped down and began to fall over. Jonathan rushed forward with speed he never knew he had

and caught the figure as he fell. Jonathan pushed the figure back up against the wall. He felt wetness against his hand. He pulled his hand away and turned it to the light of the streetlamp. It was red with blood. He wiped his hand clean on his pants and turned back to the figure, which was now started to stand again.

"You're cut," Jonathan said pointing to the injury on the newcomer's left arm.

"I will heal." The dark giant spoke in the same coldness as before. He sheathed his own blade and steadied himself against the wall before standing straight again. Jonathan could now tell the new individual stood almost six-foot-five. The stranger took another step forward, slowly gathering himself and his strength back. He breathed heavily.

"You don't have much to say." Jonathan said standing back.

The dark figure scoffed under his breath in mockery of Jonathan's comment. It was almost as if this new stranger had more to say in actions than words. He turned to Jonathan, looking down at the young man. Jonathan was able to look into the stranger's eyes. He saw strength flowing through them, in them, and out of them. Something in these stranger's eyes was compelling to Jonathan, making him desire to do something extraordinary, something heroic. Jonathan closed his eyes and shook away the feeling.

"I guess I need to thank you for my life." He said holding out his right hand. The stranger looked at him.

"You owe me no such thing," the shadow said. Jonathan looked around to see if maybe anybody else was walking the sidewalk and saw the two of them talking. Strangely enough there was nobody around. He had not seen another student ever since the killer appeared. The only interruption of his loneliness with the two black-clad soldiers of darkness was the police car passing by.

"How did you know…"

"I have been tracking this murder for months," the figure spoke, cutting Jonathan off in the middle of his initial question. "I followed him here but was not sure what he was planning to do. After I saw him talking to you I knew."

Jonathan backed up a little, stepping more into the light in case the new giant were to turn against him. His hopes were that somebody would see him.

"What is he planning to do?" Jonathan asked, his voice shaking slightly.

The shadowed man faced Jonathan. "The less you know, the safer you will be. I must go." The man turned and began to walk away from Jonathan.

"Wait," Jonathan called after the man, "what if I need you again?"

"You won't." The man said. "It is I who needs you."

Before Jonathan could ask anything else, the figure was gone, his body, drenched in black, was swallowed by the shadows of the night, despite his large size.

Jonathan stared in disbelief at the shadow in front of him as the figure drifted out of sight. It was almost like the character from the Dean Koontz novel _Frankenstein_, Deucalion.

Jonathan awoke the next morning from a dreamless sleep. To him, however, the pervious night almost seemed too much like a dream. There were no other students around him during the confrontation between the two shadow-men. His talk with the newcomer after the battle seemed to almost be a memory of yesteryear, fading with every passing minute like any other dream produced from the deepest chasms of the mind

during REM sleep. Maybe it was a dream. He could not remember the dark giant's name. It was almost as if this new protector was just a figment of Jonathan's imagination.

Craig was already awake, as usual, but was not in the room. Jonathan could hear his roommate's distinctive gay laughter down the hall. Jonathan mocked it silently with a smile on his face as he climbed out of his loft. As soon as his bare feet touched the laminate flooring of the domicile, the phone rang. Jonathan staggered over to the phone, unaware that his left foot had fallen asleep and he could not walk. He snatched the phone out of the cradle and pushed the talk button.

"Hello?" he said into the receiver.

"Hi," returned a female voice. "Is Jonathan there?"

"Speaking," Jonathan said rubbing his eyes, trying to wake up more.

"Hey, it's Christine, the girl from a few nights ago."

"Yeah, I remember."

"You do? I was just wondering since you haven't called me."

"I'm sorry. I've just been rather busy lately and have had some crazy stuff going on."

"I mean, I don't want to sound like I'm ungrateful for the other night, but I just don't want to be treated like…like another notch on your bedpost…so to speak."

"No." Jonathan said quickly without thinking. "It's not that. I'm being serious."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been having trouble sleeping lately. Let me make it up to you."

"Alright."

"Dinner tonight…at The Retreat."

"Alright…say about six o'clock?"

"Sounds good to me." Jonathan exchanged his goodbyes with Christine and set the phone back down in the cradle gently.

"Dodged a bullet there, buddy." A voice said from behind Jonathan. He turned around to see Craig standing in the door. Jonathan had not heard his roommate enter the room. More than likely it had happened when he was explaining himself to Christine. He was more focused on trying to get her to spend another night with him than what was going on around him. Had the killer, or whoever it was that was following Jonathan around on campus, been in the room, they would have had the perfect opportunity to do to Jonathan what they pleased.

"So…" Craig gave Jonathan an eager stare, begging with his eyes for more information.

"I'm taking Christine out for dinner tonight." Jonathan said after a short sigh.

"Christine…from Monday night?"

"Same one."

Craig smiled and chuckled slightly to himself.

"What?" Jonathan asked moving across the room. "I know that chuckle. You think I'm not up to any good."

"I think you're up to _no_ good." Craig said, correcting Jonathan's grammatical mistake. "You just enjoyed the last time she was here and wouldn't mind going another round with that fine piece of ass."

Jonathan reared back slightly with a shocked expression on his face.


	8. Epiosde 8

Figment

Episode 8

By the time Jonathan finished with his classes for the day, the wind had died down to a dull, but still fast, breeze. It was not the breeze that bothered Jonathan, and sent shivers down his spine. It was the man last night. The two men. Both clothed in black, shielded by brimmed hats, armed with steel rather than iron. Any nut today could find his way into a gun shop, purchase a weapon and figure out how to use it. The two men, in black guise, fought with expert skill. It was the stuff you would see in the movies, the stuff Jonathan would dream about.

He pulled out a paper that was sticking slightly out of his backpack and unfolded it. The wind ripped at the loose edges of the paper, attempting to pull it free from Jonathan's grip and fling it across the campus in a dancing fury. Drawn, rather crudely since Jonathan was never good at artwork, was a pencil sketching of a blade. It took almost the entire length of the paper, if he had the sheet turned on its side. The blade was long, and curved, darkened just a touch by shading with the side of his pencil. The hilt was all black, but even darker than the coloring lay a web of intricate lines, mapping the details of the design. The grip and pommel were shaded neatly in black to accentuate the wrapping of fine cloth or leather around solid, black wood. Printed, as neatly as possible, in capital letters underneath the crude drawing were the words ONYX STEEL. Jonathan had never heard of an onyx steel before until he drew this same drawing earlier in the week. In fact, as far as he knew, no such element existed on the planet. He could not figure out why he was so obsessed with this drawing and why it continued to return to him in his dreams and daylight doodling during class.

He stuffed the paper back into his bag, making sure that it was not neatly folded as it had been before. He wanted that image out of his mind. He wanted answers. He wanted food. Crap! His dinner plans with Christine. He had almost forgotten them. He slung his bag over his shoulder and hurried back towards his dorm, keeping his head down from the rushing wind.

As always, Craig was waiting in the room when Jonathan got there. Craig looked at Jonathan and almost passed no acknowledgement, but then did a double take and jumped from his seat, spilling his keyboard to the floor.

"Where have you been?" He asked quickly approaching his roommate.

"I've been in class man," Jonathan said setting his backpack down. "Why?"

"Professor Daniels called," Craig continued. "He was wondering where you were."

"I just left his class, I wonder what he wanted."

"He wanted to know why you didn't bother showing up today for your Statistics class."

Jonathan froze in his steps towards his computer and turned to face Craig. A bewildered look had been smeared across his face.

"I just told you," Jonathan said, slightly irritated but baffled, "I just left his class room."

"Jonathan," Craig said, "all of your professors called today, looking for you."

Jonathan looked at Craig, unable to find the words. He quickly crossed the room and picked up his backpack and pulled out the drawing.

"Do you remember a few days ago when I showed you some doodles I did in class?" Jonathan asked handing Craig the paper.

Craig took the paper and unfolded it, revealing the neatly shaded drawing of a black sword with a slightly curved blade. The bottom edge of the blade was etched diamond patterns, similar to those found on a properly sharpened Japanese katana. The hilt resembled the shape of a galaxy with four arms stretching out from it slightly, coming to a point at each end. The grip was wrapped in what appeared to be leather, all the way to the pommel which had similar shading to the hilt. Craig folded the paper back up and handed it to Jonathan. "You never showed that to me before." He said concerned.

"Sure I did," Jonathan explained. "A few days ago we were going to the Village to grab something to eat. I asked you if you've driven my car and showed you a similar drawing."

"Dude," Craig said, "we haven't been to the Village to eat in over a week."

Jonathan staggered back against the door, shocked from Craig's comment.

"Like I've been saying, your professors have been calling you all day long, trying to figure out where you've been."

"I've been in class all day long." Jonathan said before grabbing the drawing again and unfolding it to show it to Craig. "Dr. Daniels' class is where I drew this. I got bored."

"Look, maybe you need to just relax a little." Craig said motioning towards the sofa in the middle of the room.

"I…I can't," Jonathan said. "I have a date with Christine in a little bit. I'll figure this out when I get back."

"Jonathan," Craig sighed, "you're missing eight hours of your day. You think you've been somewhere that you haven't and you come back with a detailed drawing of a sword made out of something called 'onyx steel' and claim you showed this to me two days ago on the way to the Village when you both sat here in the room and ordered a pizza. You need to sit down a minute or go to the hospital and get a scan or something. Something is not right."

Jonathan sat down on the sofa, staring straight ahead at no particular thing. "I can't forget about Christine again," he said after a few seconds of silence. "She already thinks I'm a jerk for not calling her back before."

Craig sighed out loud, making sure Jonathan heard his annoyance that his roommate would not stay and relax or seek medical attention for his loss of hours in the day. "There is no stopping you, I guess." Craig said with an exasperated tone.

"I have to walk all the way to The Retreat and all the way back here." Jonathan said standing up. "It will give me time to think about this and maybe remember where I was all day, okay?"

Craig sighed again. He did not like the state his roommate was in. Loss of memory, delusions of events that never happened, and irrational thought were all


	9. Episode 9

Figment

Episode 9

The room was nearly empty. The low lighting made the floors, walls, and ceiling appear a dark mix of blue and white. A long table sat near the middle of the room, set close to one of the longest walls. Behind it sat a young police officer with a pad of paper and a pencil. In the very center of the room was a standing dummy of a man. Next to the dummy sat a surgical tray. Gleaming in the low lights was the distinct stainless steal of several knives and blades. Butcher cleavers, cooking knives, daggers, and switch blades of all types and sizes filled the tray. A hand reached over and carefully selected one of the daggers from the table. The blade was slightly curved upwards, almost twelve inches in length and the grip made of fake ivory. Detective Krum held the dagger in his right hand and studied the dummy for a bit then switched the weapon to his left side, studied the lifeless body a few more seconds, then changed hands again. He stepped forward, holding the blade down by his left hip with the back of his hand facing the ceiling of the room then stepped slowly towards the dummy, slowly raising his hand in a cutting motion. He stopped halfway through the motion and retracted his steps. He flipped the blade in his hand so his palm was facing up but the blade was still facing towards his back side then stepped in again, this time cutting at the dummy with full force. A splash of red erupted out of the ballistics gel and splattered on a sheet of white paper that was suspended from a boom hanging from the ceiling.

Dean Krum had been a detective ever since he finished the academy. He was first draft by the force due to his knowledge of crime scene reconstruction and his innate ability to think like a killer. When investigating a crime scene, working with Krum was as if you were standing in the room while the murder was taking place. Dean would outline every step, every motion, and every motive without ever interviewing any witnesses or suspects. Typically he was correct about motives and the way the murder happened when a suspect was later arrested and questioned. It made him a legend in the police force. Everybody knew about Detective Dean Krum. It was no wonder that they assigned him to a case that was as high profile as this one. The unfortunate thing was that Dean still had yet to crack the killer's motive for killing and oddly enough, the weapon used in the recent string of murders. The only clue so far has been that all the murders have slowly been progressing eastward. They were not in any particular pattern, however, such as following a major road or even establishing a graphical pattern. It was as if the serial killer performing these gruesome tasks were doing so randomly, but with some purpose. Whoever it was, they obviously had a car else the murders would happen in a relative straight line. Most murders that have a thirst for killing such as this one typically would not go out of their way if walking from site to site.

Dean lowered the boom and took the sheet of paper off and set it gently on the floor and set the dagger on the corner of the paper near the splatter of red dye used to imitate blood. Behind the sheet Dean had just removed was a fresh sheet, ready to be used in the next experiment. The officer at the table got up and pulled the dummy aside

and fit the front side with a new ballistics gel mold. He took the used mold and set it on the paper next to the dagger Dean had used. As Dean raised the boom back to the height of the ceiling from the last murder scene, a door on the far side of the room opened. Dean's partner walked in, carrying a folder in his left hand. Dean selected the cleaver from the table of weapons and held it in the same fashion as the dagger just a few moments before. He stepped forward, cutting the dummy again. Another spray of dye flew onto the paper suspended from the ceiling. He studied it for a moment then turned to his partner.

"What do you have?" Dean said holding out his hand to take the folder. His partner handed it to him, opening it as he did so.

"Results on the wife," he said. "Just as Willard suggested; a fatal stab through the back side of the body, just below the heart, but well enough into the lung to suffocate her in her own blood."

"And the husband?" Dean asked lowering the boom.

"Not finished yet, but you were right about the cut along the neck line. It appears to be one solid motion from front to back."

Dean thumbed through the paperwork then handed it back to his partner. He walked around the dummy a few times, looking up at the paper hanging above him.

"So we know that the wife was killed almost instantly." Dean began, thinking out load as he typically did when trying to figure out a tough question. "Her body suggested that she was dead before she fell to the floor. Her husband, cut several times across the chest, was beheaded while running towards his fallen wife. The direction he was running combined with the force of the cut to his neckline forced the body to stagger backwards, even though it continued to move forward a few steps."

Dean picked up one the larger daggers off of the tray; a fourteen inch doubled-sided smooth blade with wooden grip. He held it in his hand then twirled it around, switched hands, spun it in his left, and then switched hands again. His partner could tell that he was trying to figure everything out. This case was bothering him. He could not find a motive, pattern, or a weapon. He hand not slept in days and the insomnia was starting to sink into his posture and eyes.

"The cuts to the chest would have happened before his wife was killed." Dean continued. "The killer thought the husband was finished, or was maybe toying with him, letting him watch his wife die before he was killed. An upward slash made from a sharp, flat blade, no serrated edges and not too deep. It was almost as if the killer was keeping the husband back, warding him off while he finished the wife."

"He would have to have a longer blade than a cleaver or a knife in order to do something like that." Dean's partner chimed in looking down at the twelve inch blade on the floor.

"Correct," Dean agreed. "So any short weapons are out of the question. Something longer, but still lethal and easy to control."

"So we are looking for something maybe fourteen to sixteen inches in length."

"But no longer than forty-two. Anything longer would be too hard to maneuver inside a house without hitting something else, and since nothing else in the house was disturbed besides the residents, it would have had to be shorter than that."

Dean studied what he had on the tray then looked at the officer sitting at the table.


	10. Episode 10

Figment

Episode 10

Jonathan and Christine worked their way through the line, gathering the items they each yearned to eat. Jonathan's tray was full; a large plate holding a baked potato, some steak, very few vegetables, and a side bowl of vanilla pudding. Christine was the extreme; a plate with a fresh salad topped with the red sweetness of French dressing and a bowl of clean pineapple chunks.

Jonathan picked up a set of utensils and set them on Christine's tray, smiling at her as he did so. She smiled back and gave his elbow a playful nudge. "Thank you," she said turning out of the line and walking to the cashier. Jonathan stood for a moment, watching her walk away from him. He smiled and laughed lightly to himself. He gathered a handful of napkins and some utensils for himself and entered the line to pay.

Christine was already out of the line and walking into the dining area, looking for someplace to sit when Jonathan reached the cashier. He handed the older woman his pre-paid meal card. She swiped it through the card reader and handed back to him. She said something, but Jonathan did not hear her. He was looking at a shadow on the other side of the room. He thought he had just seen it move.

"You still owe 16 cents," the cashier lady said holding out her hand.

"Oh," said Jonathan, snapping back to the conversation. He dug into his pocket and produced a quarter, laying it in the woman's fake-nailed hand. She tendered the remaining amount and handed the young man his change.

Jonathan stepped out of the line and into the dining area. Instead of following Christine, he walked towards the shadow that moved. He had a suspicion of who it was, and he wanted some answers.

Christine found an empty table on the other side of the dining area from where the cashier exit was. She looked around for Jonathan, but did not see him in the line. She could have sworn he was right behind her. Then she spotted him over by the entrance of the building, looking around as if he was looking for her. She stood up and waved in his direction, but he turned his head just as she did so, missing the gesture altogether. She sat back down and waited for him to turn around again. He seemed to stop looking around and was talking to somebody, but she couldn't see anybody standing in front of him. She could, however, make out some of his facial expressions and could see that he was not pleased to see whoever he was talking to.

"What are you doing here?" Jonathan asked the looming shadow next to the brick wall.

"He's here." The figure said in his usual dark tone.

Jonathan took a half step backwards. "I thought you said he wasn't going to following me any longer."

"I thought I was correct with my assumption, but he is fixated on you." The figure looked around the room, scanning with his dark eyes.

"What does he want with me?" Jonathan asked, almost become irate.

"That I do not know," said the shadow, "but relax, enjoy your meal with your lady friend. I will find out his purpose soon enough."

"How can I relax when I have a maniac following me with a sword?" Jonathan said raising his voice a bit.

"Be calm," said the giant figure, "Do not draw attention to yourself, I do not think he is here for you." He motioned with his head towards Christine.

"He's here for Christine?" Jonathan asked.

"No, not for her."

"I want some answers. Who are you? What does he want with Christine? What does he want with me?"

"I cannot give you those answers, Jonathan." The figure said, standing up straight. "Go, enjoy your meal."

Jonathan paused for a moment, looking the dark figure for a moment then started walking towards Christine through the dining area, scanning with only his eyes for the killer that was looming about somewhere in the room.

Jonathan sat down at the table across from Christine. He smiled at her as he adjusted the items on his plate with his fork.

"Who were you talking to?" Christine asked smiling back.

"Oh," Jonathan answered, "it was nobody."

Christine smiled weakly. She knew he was talking to somebody, but she could not see who it was. It was possible that whoever it was they were standing on the other side of the wall where she could not see them.

"Just an old friend," Jonathan said, seeing the expression on Christine's face as she picked at the salad on her tray.

A girl screamed from across the area behind Jonathan. He quickly turned around, his eyes wide with fear. Laughter erupted from a table near the middle of the room. A girl in a pink shirt stood up. Down the front of her shirt was a black and brown liquid; too dark for blood. On the table sat a still fussing bottle of Dr. Pepper. She had opened it, not knowing the boys at the table shook it while she was getting some napkins earlier. One of the boys in a white and blue collared shirt held up his hand while the one next to him in a gray polo gave him a high-five and proceeded to shake his friend's hand, a common gesture for most adolescent males of recent times. Jonathan let out a sigh of relief and turned back around to Christine.

"What was that about?" Christine asked him before taking a sip of her drink through the clear straw.

"Sorry, just startled me a bit."

"I'd say! You turned around and went pale like you saw a ghost."

"Listen," Jonathan said leaning into the table a bit. Christine leaned in to hear him better. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but I need you to look for anybody that might look suspicious walking through the room."

Christine sat back in her seat, folder her arms across her chest and gave Jonathan a glare. "Are you not supposed to be seen with me?" she asked.


	11. Episode 11

Figment

Episode 11

Jonathan stepped out of the bathroom to find Christine gone. He looked around the corner into the dining area. No, she was not in there. The door to the girl's restroom opened, and Jonathan turned around to come face to face with a short redheaded girl he recognized from his algebra class last semester.

"Hey," he said getting her attention. "Was there a brunette girl in there, almost my height, curly hair?"

The girl shook her head. "I didn't see anybody else in there, but then again, I didn't bother looking."

Jonathan slumped against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "Thanks anyway." He said looking down at the floor. He figured that if she were in the bathroom he could wait on her like she had to wait on him. It was, however, only the courteous thing to do since they were on a date. He wasn't sure if she thought of it as a date though. He knew he did. She was beautiful and he needed to actually settle down with just one girl. Meeting all these random "_hotties_," as he grew to call them to keep with popular trends, gave him a social network of incredible-looking girls around campus. It was good for when he had friends from high school visiting. He would appear to be some sort of _Van Wilder_ of his school. The only thing he was missing was the golf cart loaded with mirrors and an alarm.

He laughed lightly to himself at the thought of getting an assistant to help him around school and go to his classes for him. Then he would be like the iconic college figure portrayed by Ryan Reynolds. Jonathan looked up from the floor to scope out the dining area again, just making sure he had not skimmed over her the first time. To his surprise, standing in the door way was the figure, still cloaked in black.

The figure pointed to the exit doors. "Your lady friend stepped outside for a minute." He said, his voice cold, but somewhat warmer than usual. It seemed, to Jonathan at least, that this gargantuan protector was passing the thought of becoming friendlier with him.

"Thanks," Jonathan said walking towards the door. As he reached out to grab the handle and push the door to the outside he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. The hand spun him around, almost throwing him into the door frame. He balanced himself.

"Wait," the figure said stepping back. "You wanted answers to questions I cannot answer for you." Jonathan nodded in response. "You must understand that you need to find out these answers on your own Jonathan, but do not go digging for answers you do not fully know the question to."

"Why is he after me?" Jonathan asked calmly, stepping forward slightly.

The figure waved his hand in the air, ignoring Jonathan's question. "I cannot tell you that, but you mustn't worry."

"Who are you?"

"I have no name that you shall know." The figure said stepping taller in stance. "I should only remain a mere figment, but there is so much I need to show you, need you to understand."

Jonathan looked at the figure cautiously.

"You have great potential Jonathan," he said softly, "you just need to realize what you have, and how to use it."

Jonathan scoffed lightly, looking down at the floor. "No name?" he asked looking up at the figure. "Should only be a figment?" The giant in black nodded. "The for the sake of having something to call you when I see you, I hope you don't mind if I just call you Figment." The figure stood straight for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"That name will suite me just fine, for now, Jonathan." He said finally. "Go," he motioned with his arm toward the door, "she is still waiting for you outside."

Jonathan turned around again and opened the door.

"Jonathan," Figment called from behind him. Jonathan turned around. "Thank you for trying to help me the other night."

Jonathan nodded and walked out the door, glancing behind him one last time as the door shut. To no surprise of his own, the man, towering in black cloth, was gone as quickly and silently as he had appeared.

"Hey," Christine said from behind Jonathan. "Over here." He had almost walked past her, not seeing her out of the corner of his eye. He turned around and smiled.

"There you are," He said making a gesture with his hands that indicated he had been looking for her.

"I came out to get some fresh air," she said brushing her hair out of her face. She wrinkled her nose and whispered to him, "It smelled like somebody farted the lit it on fire over by the girl's bathroom."

Jonathan could not hold back his laughter. He thought of the redheaded girl that stepped out of the bathroom while he was looking for Christine. "Smell a lot of fire farts?" He asked her with a smile still on his face.

Christine playfully smacked his shoulder, then started walking past him, letting her hand fall into his, pulling him along with her.

The two of them walked back towards the main part of campus, hand in hand, laughing and playfully nudging each other. Jonathan could not stop thinking that maybe he could have some sort of relationship with this girl. He wished he could read people's minds, like that guy from X-Men. Man, that would be so cool! He would be able to tell exactly what Christine was thinking.

Christine, having been with a few guys in her tenure at college, was a little more cautious when it came to throwing herself at a guy. Throughout high school she had dated only one person. Naturally, he was the most popular guy in school so could have any girl he wanted. Why he had asked Christine out back during their freshman year she still has yet to divulge, but she never bothered to ask. Being with such a guy made her part of the popular crowd. She had changed her clothing style, began wearing outfits that were more flattering to her body, wearing her hair down instead of tied in a ponytail tightly behind her head, and even took up the occasional drinking on the weekends to be social with the other popular girls and guys. Deep down inside she still clung to her basic roots. She loved playing the piano and would often find herself blasting classical music

in her car when it was really late at night and not a whole lot of people were on the road. She was also somebody that enjoyed a good night of online game play, such as World of Warcraft. She kept this from her boyfriend of the time. It was not her reputation or being shunned from the popular crowd that she kept this secret. They did not have reason to know. What she liked to on her own time was her personal stuff.

After high school, her boyfriend, being the wonderful individual he was, left her. He did not have any intention of being linked to a girl at another university while he himself was pursuing other engagements himself. Naturally, Christine was devastated. She had let him talk her into making their relationship sexual while they were still in high school, and she only at the age of 16. She immediately felt that she was only being used for the occasional sexual romp in the bedroom, or car, or sometimes in the shower, and in times of feeling naughty they even used her parent's hot tub a few times.

Upon entering the college lifestyle, Christine was drawing attention from a large group of guys that, to her, seemed to be the same type as her last relationship. Being cautious of her emotions and feelings, she shied away from any type of interaction. She was leery of getting used again, although her last boyfriend expressed time and time again that was not the case with their relationship.

Christine eventually got over her shyness by becoming friends with several girls on her dorm floor. After being part of the popular high school crowd for four years, she had the routine down, and had even found herself skipping out on WoW games and piano practices more often. By her second year in college she had quit the online gaming community altogether and traded it for going to weekend-long parties with her floor-mates, getting drunk, and having sex with at least one of the guys at the party.

She met Jonathan at a local bar during Karaoke night and had gone home with him that night. Now here they were, walking together after going on a diner date, hand in hand, laughing and having a good time. She felt like something could happen between the two of them. She definitely felt a spark that night as she looked into his eyes while he was on top of her. It had probably just been the sensual pleasure surging through her body mixed with the consumption of alcohol earlier in the evening, but she did not care. She was here, with him, right now.

As they got closer to the University Green, a small patch of grass located near the center of campus, more popular to random games of tag, Frisbee, or capture-the-flag during the night hours, Jonathan seemed to become more restless and Christine had noticed liveliness in his pace.

"In a hurry to end this night?" Christine asked, pulling on Jonathan's hand. He turned and looked at her, smiling lightly.

"No," he responded, followed by a slight pause. "It's just that…" He paused again and looked around.

"Oh come on!" Christine exclaimed with a smile on her face. "You can't tell me that you're afraid of the dark." She playfully smacked his arm.

Jonathan smiled at her. "Alright," Christine said standing in front of Jonathan, spreading her arms out to her sides. "If anything happens, I'll protect you." She was almost unable to finish her last sentence without bursting out laughing. Jonathan could not help laughing with her, pulling her back to him. They kissed, only to be interrupted by a slow applause from the shadows.


End file.
